


Hands Of The King Are The Hands Of A Healer

by Elwen_of_the_hidden_valley



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Family, Gen, Healing, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 23:05:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6170233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elwen_of_the_hidden_valley/pseuds/Elwen_of_the_hidden_valley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elrohir and Elladan accompany their foster brother, Estel on his first patrol of Imladris' borders.  It's fortunate that Elrond has come along for the ride, for things go awry when the path gives way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any of the characters or places in this tale. They all belong to JRR Tolkien.

The Misty Mountains were living up to their name that morning, as the trio stood before the house, making last minute checks to saddle bags, stirrup and girth. In the deep, water laden, valley of Rivendell early morning mist was a common occurrence, especially on summer days such as this. 

From a distance you could be forgiven for thinking them three elves but, in fact, the still unrevealed heir of Isildur was a mortal. All three were tall, with dark hair and piercing grey eyes, their bodies, slender and straight. But within a couple of years Estel’s shoulders would broaden and his beard become more obvious, as his face took on the more angular planes of manhood. At least, growing up amongst elves, he had learned to move with the catlike grace of his foster brothers and had none of the gawky awkwardness of other mortals of his age. 

All were dressed in comfortable, worn and unobtrusively coloured, riding gear but none had bothered to don cloak to protect them from the dawn chill. Elladan and Elrohir needed no protection from the cold for, as elves, only the most extreme of temperatures would cause them any discomfort. The young man however was very definitely feeling the cold although pride would not permit him to admit to it openly before his foster brothers. Elladan smiled softly and shook his head at the folly of youth as he saw the man lean in closer to Haranvarni, adjusting the girth for at least a third time, in an attempt to share some of the horse’s body heat. For his part, the horse took the fussing stoicly.

From the gate leading to the stable yard behind them the light clip of another horse was heard. The elven twins turned first, with Estel was only a split second behind them, but all three faces registered surprise at about the same time. Wearing his old soft grey riding leathers and leading Haranfaana was their lord and father, Elrond; his eyes wide, in mock dismay at their expressions. As he drew closer he reached out one gloved hand and placed a finger beneath Estel’s chin, pushing gently upwards until the jaw closed with an audible click of teeth. 

“Close your mouth, Estel. Such a look of open surprise is most unbecoming.” The corners of his own mouth twitched a little.

Elladan was the first to recover his composure, nudging his twin as he spotted the tell tale signs of his one of his father’s rare bouts of merriment. 

“Good morning, Ada. Will you be joining us?” He had already noted that his father carried no sword and only the lightest of saddle bags, whilst they carried both sword and bow and their own bags were stuffed with all the equipment needed for a long journey away from the comforts of the house. Elrond allowed himself a small smile but his eyes did not leave those of his young foster son.

“It is a beautiful morning and I have been closeted too many days with book and pen so, yes, I shall be travelling with you.” 

Behind Estel, Elrohir’s hand flew to his mouth to prevent his laughter escaping, aware that Elrond had been out riding only the previous evening.

The still innocent face of the young man before him revealed too easily the emotions roiling in his mind. Disappointment. This was to be his first expedition with the Border Guards and he felt overly coddled as it was, with both Elrohir and Elladan as company. They may be foster brothers but he recognised that, on this first journey at least, they were there for his protection, not just to provide pleasant company. 

Anger. His foster father obviously did not trust him to take care of himself. The elven lord had taught him to ride and fight and knew all of Estel’s strengths and weaknesses. Elrond had made no secret of his concerns about his foster son’s readiness to leave their fortress home and had finally agreed to the compromise of allowing Estel to patrol the border between valley and wilds. 

Resignation. This elf was the only father he had ever known and was considered one of the wisest Elven Lords in Middle Earth. If he had changed his mind and decided that Estel was not ready to travel without his protection the youth would have to respect that decision. 

Elrond waited patiently for all the expressions to run their course and then decided he had teased enough. “But, I do have a meeting with Rivan to discuss the accounts this afternoon so I shall be accompanying you only as far as the ford. I trust that you will bear my company thus far?” He addressed his final comment directly at Estel and used centuries of practice to hide his amusement when he saw relief flooding the boy’s features. 

To his credit, Estel recovered quickly. “We would be honoured, Ada,” he smiled.

Elrond could not resist one final dig, however and pulled Estel’s cloak from where it was tied, behind the young man’s saddle. “I suggest you put this on, Estel. You are shivering.” Pride was a good thing, but only in its place. “Cold muscles are a disadvantage if one has to fight.” Whilst the likelihood of any fighting within the borders of the valley was most unlikely, Elrond knew that these sorts of considerations should become second nature to a soldier. 

Estel took the garment wordlessly and fastened it about his neck, blushing when he heard Elladan and Elrohir’s suppressed laughter behind him. It seemed to Estel that, still, at over two and half thousand years of age, there were times when the twin’s behaviour was younger than his own. 

Within an hour the summer sun had driven away the mist and Estel shrugged off his cloak, retying it across the back of his saddle with his blanket. For the most part they travelled in silence. Elrond was not noted for his garrulous nature and all three of his sons had acquired the same trait of quiet thoughtfulness from him. 

As they did not have to reach their rendezvous point with the current patrol until the following morning Elrohir suggested that they take the longer, steeper and less travelled route through the valley. Not an easy path, it was infrequently used by either walker or rider and meant that they would probably be undisturbed; besides, the deeper shade of the trees was a welcome relief on such a warm day. 

His father hesitated, pointing out that Haranmorne was still inexperienced and would be wary of the steep track but Elrohir had insisted that the young horse was ready. Elrond acknowledged his son’s experience with animals and let him have his way. From an early age the twin had lived up to his name and had an easy way with the training of horses that made his father quite proud. Elrond’s own horse, Haranfaana, was an elder sibling of Haranmorne; a gift from his son only three years earlier and the Lord of Imladris could not remember ever owning a more spirited yet biddable mount.

After a while the track narrowed as it switched back and forth up the valley side with a rock face to their right and a sheer drop to the lower switchback on their left. It was a credit to the aura of the valley and the elves that tended it that even here trees had managed to find a purchase, forming a green tunnel through which the four rode, single file, and dappling the path with cool shade. 

As they rode Elrond made mental note of trees that needed tending and his brow creased as he saw the crumbling edges of the trail. In places the horses had to pick their way through uncleared screes washed down by the spring rains. The stewards had apparently not been this way for some time and he intended to have a few strong words with them when he returned to the house. There would be just enough time before his meeting with Rivan.

Elrohir’s shout jolted him back to the present. Elrond was travelling at the rear of the party and, for a moment, he could not see what was happening; his view blocked by Estel and Elladan. There was the alarmed shriek of a horse and then, to his left and ahead, the Lord of Imladris watched in helpless horror as the night black shape of a horse tumbled off the track and disappeared down the mountainside, followed by the flailing, dark haired form of his son. 

For a few minutes confusion reigned as the three remaining horses took fright and tried to turn and run back down the narrow path, only to find that there was no space in which to do so. As he fought to bring his own skittering mount under control Elrond saw, out of the corner of his eye, Estel’s horse sidestepping towards the crumbling edge. Finally regaining control Elrond edged his own mount forward, using Haranfaana’s nose to crowd Haranvarni’s rump back against the cliff wall. He tore off his glove and stretched forward to place his hand upon Haranvarni’s hindquarters, sending thoughts of calm into the snorting animal. Up ahead he was aware that Elladan had regained control of Haranwinde, although the horse’s eyes still rolled alarmingly. With the combined work of Elrond and Estel, Haranvarni finally stilled, pushed hard against the cliff wall and still shivering, as Estel patted his neck and murmured words of reassurance.

With a pat of Haranfaana’s neck Elrond leapt down and ran to the edge of the track, wary of its fraying borders. Through a gap in the canopy of trees below he could see the dark shapes of horse and elf. Even with his keen elven sight he could not tell whether Elrohir was breathing but one arm lay at an unnatural angle and he was making no attempt to rise. It was very clear, from the position of the unfortunate horse’s head, that Haranmorne was dead. Elladan and Estel joined their father and stood surveying the scene in silent horror. Elrond was the first to gather his wits, pushing aside his feelings as a father and drawing upon his resources as a warrior and healer. He pulled on his glove and smoothed the leather over his knuckles.

“Elladan?” The twin did not move or acknowledge him. Elladan had seen his share of death but Elrond noted that he was pale and shaking and worried that he may be feeling some of his twins’ distress through the strange link that the two shared. To Elrond’s surprise, it was the inexperienced Estel who recovered first and caught his foster brother’s shoulder. 

Elrond tried to push through to his son’s shock once more, setting a deliberate edge of command to his voice. “Elladan?” 

The younger elf’s anguish filled eyes focussed dimly on his sire. “Yes, Ada?” There was a slight tremor in his voice and it was too quiet.

“If I remember this trail aright, there is a place just beyond the turning, there,” his father pointed to where the trail disappeared around a rocky outcrop, “where there is sufficient room to turn the horses. Do so and then bring them back to join Estel and me. We will go down to tend Elrohir.”

Elladan looked as though he was about to argue but his father cut him off. “Use the time to compose yourself. Elrohir will need all of us to have full command of our wits.” 

Elladan swallowed and nodded but his father did not wait for any acknowledgement. He had already turned and now set off down the trail with a fleetness that only an elf could have managed. With a sympathetic slap on his foster brother’s back Estel ran after Elrond, who was, even now, disappearing from view.


	2. Chapter 2

The man was bent double, hands on thighs and chest heaving, as he tried to catch his breath. He was fit enough but not for the first time in his life Estel envied elves. His foster father was already kneeling at Elrohir’s side, his chest rising and falling in its usual steady rhythm, the only sign of his flight the slight disarray of his long dark hair. Before Estel had even reached them Elrond had stripped off his riding gloves, performed an initial examination and determined that his son was, at least, alive. Estel suspected that if Elrohir had been a man, like himself, the fall would have proved fatal. 

Having mastered his lungs again, the young man knelt at the other side of his foster brother. Elrond placed steady hands at his son’s temples, his fingers smeared from the blood of a large gash on Elrohir’s high brow. Recognising his father’s glassy stare, Estel waited silently until he came out of healing trance. Only moments later Elrond drew a long breath and deep grey eyes focussed upon the youth. At the same time he withdrew his hands; absently wiping them on a large white kerchief, and sat back on his heals.

“How is he?” asked Estel, quietly.

“He has a concussion – nothing too serious. Scalp wounds always bleed freely so it looks worse than it is. The skull is intact. His left shoulder is dislocated and the wrist is sprained. A couple of ribs on the left side have been broken, one is cracked, but the lung is undamaged, and one of the lower bones in his right leg is broken. A small tally considering how far he fell.”

With each injury listed the youth’s stomach rolled uneasily and Estel marvelled at the calm way that Elrond listed his own son’s injuries. What was really going on behind his father’s cool exterior? Elrond was not without emotion but at times of hurt he closed steel shutters that forbade anyone entrance to his soul. When Estel had mentioned it to Glorfindel once the warrior had simply shaken his head, muttered something about Elrond having had a difficult life and hastily changed the subject. The young man had intended to make further enquiry at a later date but never seemed to be able to find the opportunity.

Feeling a little useless, Estel smoothed his brother’s hair back from his face. “Can I do anything to help?” 

He was worried that Elrohir’s eyes were closed, the thick lashes pressed, unmoving, against alarmingly pale skin. Elves normally slept with eyes open, only closing them when they were exhausted or gravely injured, and he could not recall ever having seen Elrohir with closed eyes.

Elrond pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not yet. We must wait for Elladan. I will need one of your medical kits. I assume that you have them in your packs.”

Estel swallowed in a suddenly dry throat. He did not remember having packed any medical supplies. Elrohir and Elladan had checked and double checked his packing and they had made no mention of medical supplies. He now hoped that this was because one of the twins had taken care of that detail. Elrond touched fingers to Elrohir’s wrist and then lifted a slack eyelid as the sound of horses’ hooves alerted them to Elladan’s arrival. The twin had the reigns of Haranvarni in his hands and Haranwinde and Haranfaana followed close behind. Both twin and horses seemed much calmer and Estel sent his brother a tight smile, intended to reassure.

Elrond turned to call over his shoulder. “Bring your medical kit and any bandages you have.” He turned back quickly at a moan from Elrohir, so he did not see Elladan’s stricken look, but Estel did and his worst fears were confirmed. Elladan’s desperate eyes met his foster brother’s silver grey ones in query and Estel shook his head. 

At that moment, Elrohir’s eyes fluttered open and he tried to sit up, screaming as his body made its various injuries known. Estel winced as he watched the other twin grimace in sympathetic pain. Again, Elrond took his son’s head between his hands, easing the agony as best he could and trying to calm him. He could not continue thus, however. There was only so much he could do to ease Elrohir and he could not work to repair the shattered body whilst also trying to soften the pain. They needed medications. When Elrohir laid quiet, eyes closed once more, Elrond called distractedly, over his shoulder once again. 

“Elladan. The kit. Now, please.” When there was no response he turned in confusion. 

The twin’s voice was hardly more than a whisper. “There is no medical kit, father.”

Elrond closed his eyes and dropped his chin on his chest; the closest Estel had ever seen him come to expressing despair. When his father’s head lifted and his eyes opened, however, Estel actually found himself trying to lean out of his reach, for it was not despair that he saw in their depths. 

Only once or twice in nearly twenty years had Estel seen his step father lose his temper and never had he been the focus of his ire. Now he quailed beneath the mighty elf’s gaze. A pulse throbbed at Elrond’s temple and the lips were set so tightly that they were white. Grey eyes which, only moments before had been blank, now held a storm of thunder; lightening flickering deep within their clouded depths. The voice was terrifying in its lack of volume and yet every syllable landed clear and hard, like shards of ice, in Estel’s ear.

“You intended to go into the wilds with no means of healing any injuries you sustained?” 

“I did not….” Estel halted as his youthful voice betrayed him, cracking under the stress. He had to swallow in a constricted throat and start again, “I did not think, Father.”

“You did not think? And yet you expected me to trust you to do so.” The words felt like a slap and the youth’s face grew almost as pale as his injured brother’s. 

Elladan came to Estel’s defence, standing behind his foster brother and dropping a hand on his shoulder. “It is not his fault, Father. Elrohir and I supervised his packing. We had forgotten that Estel would not heal as an elf does.”

Estel had not thought that his father’s eyes could grow any stormier but he was wrong. They slid upward, to lock with Elladan’s and Estel winced as his foster brother’s grip on his shoulder became vicelike. 

“Do you tell me that you and Elrohir travel without any medical supplies, as a matter of course?”

Elladan tried to withstand his father’s glare. “We are elves, Adar. We heal much faster than mortals. With rest we can deal with most injuries.” His voice trailed off as his eyes were drawn to his brother, lying, semi conscious and whimpering in pain, between them.

By force of will, Elrond recaptured and held Elladan’s gaze. “Aye. Your brother will heal. Without bandages and splints, however, he will never be able to lift any heavy weight with the weakened shoulder joint; and he will always walk with a stick because his leg has not been properly set; but yes, if you call that healing, he will heal. In the meantime, he will be in a great deal of pain, which could be soothed by a simple infusion of herbs that most travellers would carry without thinking.” It was frightening to hear that even Elrond’s iron control was slipping and Estel felt very small as his foster father’s voice grew harsher with every word.

Estel felt tears threaten to spill down his face. “Ada. Please? There must be something we can do,” he whispered, shrinking back on his heals even further as the Elf Lord’s grey eyes impaled him once more. Suddenly the shutters slammed down on his anger and Elrond regarded his foster son dispassionately again. Estel did not find the change comfortable but it was preferable to the storm. 

“Estel, come with me. Elladan, start a fire and set water to boil.” Sniffing, Estel followed his foster father down the track to a tiny glade. Once within its borders Elrond stopped.

“Do you remember me showing you the athelas plant?” he snapped.

“Yes, Father.”

“See if you can find some. It will be growing in the shade so search diligently.” 

With that Elrond began cutting smooth straight branches to act as splints and Estel started his own search at the base of a chestnut sapling. It was Elrond, however, who found the herb, a few minutes later, his sharper eyes spying the long, telltale leaves peeping from beneath a hawthorn bush. 

By the time they returned to the horses Elladan had a small fire burning strongly and was just setting a pot of water to boil. He had tucked all their blankets around Elrohir who seemed to become a little more coherent; as his body warmed. He still seemed to have trouble focusing his thoughts, however, and the trembling of his body and perspiration on his brow spoke of a great deal of pain. Elrond issued more instructions. While Elladan tore one of their blankets into strips to use as bandages Estel helped his father to divest Elrohir of his tunic; finally cutting when it became apparent they were not going to be able to remove it without causing a great deal more pain. 

“Now Estel. It is time that you learned a little of your heritage.” 

Signalling for Elladan to watch his twin, Elrond sat his foster son down by the fire where he ladled some of the hot water into a bowl set on the ground before them. From a pouch at his waist he drew out three of the long athelas leaves. 

“Do you remember all of its names?”

Estel thought back to his father’s lessons in herb law. “Asea aranion, in quenya. It is called Athelas in Sindarin, which means beneficial leaf. Then there is Westmansweed, Kingsfoil and Galenas…..” 

Elrond held up a hand to stop him. “That lesson, at least, you have remembered well.” He took Estel’s hand and placed the leaves in his palm. “Bruise the leaves and breathe upon them, then cast them into the warm water.”

When Estel made to question, his father stopped him with the raising of one eyebrow. The youth closed the leaves within his fist, crushing them before holding them before his face and breathing upon them. When he dropped the slender leaves into the bowl before him, the air was filled with a fragrance of dewy mornings and pine forests, new greenery and high mountains. Estel inhaled and felt his mind clear and settle. 

Elrond added a little cold water to the bowl, testing its temperature with a finger before he carried it back to where Elrohir lay, unconscious once more. There he handed Estel a square of cloth, pausing to squeeze Elladan’s shoulder in forgiveness as the twin moved aside. 

“You bathe his hurts and then I will bind them.” As they worked Estel watched in wonder as the lines of pain faded from his foster brother’s face. The skin beneath their hands lost its clammy coldness and Elrohir’s breathing grew less ragged. Under their father’s instruction Estel and Elladan helped pop the shoulder back into its socket whilst Elrond bound ribs and secured the arm that had been dislocated across Elrohir’s chest. The leg was more troublesome and took all three of them to gently stretch and then splint it. When all was ordered Elrond tucked the blankets around Elrohir once more and sent him into a deep healing sleep.

Estel sat back on his heals and decided it was now safe to ask his father a question. “Ada. What did I just do?”

“You did what most elven kind can do. For you are descended, through many fathers, from my own brother, Elros. Athelas can bring relief from pain and speed the healing process.” He paused for a moment as if about to go into more detail. But in the end he only said. “It has other uses but that is a lesson for another time.”

“Then we truly are family? Why did you not tell me of our relationship before?” the young man asked. 

That Estel did not make the connection between Elros and the Kingship of Numenor, his foster father decided to ignore for a time. When Elladan would have spoken Elrond gave an infinitisimal shake of his head. Let the youngster keep his innocence for a little longer.

It was a sign that Elrond was no longer as concerned for Elrohir’s safety that the twinkle reappeared in his eyes. “I was upon the point of telling you several times of late but the opportunity did not present itself. It would appear that Elrohir has found a way to solve my problem.” He dropped his gaze to his son’s sleeping face and bent to tuck a stray strand of hair behind a delicately pointed ear. Elrond’s demeanor softened. “Although I would rather he had chosen a less dramatic method.” 

He took up Elrohir’s uninjured hand to stroke it gently and when he spoke again his voice was distant. “It seems you will have to postpone your journey for a little while, my son. Perhaps it is well for you were not properly provisioned, were you?”


	3. Chapter 3

Estel rummaged through the contents of his pack once more, searching for the small bag of herbs and bandages that he had prepared for the journey. It was very definitely not there. Perhaps he had just imagined he had packed it and it was still in his clothes press. He had begun sorting through his shirts again when there was a knock at the door. Recognising his foster father’s distinctive rap he called out, “Come in,” whilst he still distractedly felt among the linens on the top shelf.

Elrond’s amused voice drifted across the room. “I believe you may find this useful.” Estel turned, still with half his mind trying to remember where he had last seen the elusive bag. Elrond was standing by his bed, offering to his foster son a small, wooden, brass bound box. Covering the distance between them in three long strides, Estel reached out to accept the gift and turned with it to perch upon the edge of his bed. 

“Thank you, Father,” he smiled as he turned it over in his hands. 

Elrond joined him on the bed. The box Estel now held was perhaps ten inches by six, its corners and edges bound in brass, with a brass haft and bar to hold it closed. The lid was inlaid with a simple design of three long Athelas leaves. The young man ran his fingers over the satin surface, marvelling that he could trace no seems or changes in texture between the different coloured woods. 

“Well, open it,” Elrond prompted.

Estel lifted the lid and gasped in pleased surprise when he saw the contents. Every inch of the interior was filled. There were small earthenware bottles, bags of dried herbs, tins of salve and carefully rolled linen bandages. Each bottle, tin or bag bore a label, in Elrond’s own flowing script, listing its contents and usage. 

“I see you’re making sure that I am properly provisioned, this time,” Estel commented, ruefully.

Elrond’s eyes focussed on something beyond the window. “In the eventuality that you find yourself obliged to leap off any cliffs.” The comment was not as amusing as it would have been two weeks ago. Elrohir was now walking but he would need the aid of a stick for another three days at least. 

Estel had assisted in the buriel of Haranmorne and felt a little ashamed that the only emotion he felt throughout the process was relief that he was not shovelling dirt over his foster brother. 

Elrond continued, “I have supplied your brothers with similar boxes. I trust that you will all ensure that they are packed on future journeys. I see that Glorfindel has already aranged for you to resume your duties upon our border. Elladan and Elrohir will join you within the week.”

Rising to leave, Elrond surprised his foster son, by hugging him lightly. When he reached the door he turned and looked deep into Estel’s eyes. 

“Safe journey, Estel.”

“Thank you, Ada.”

“You and I will talk further about your heritage upon your return.”

 

 

THE END


End file.
